


Open up again (I believe in second chances)

by brokxnharry



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 2x12, Aftermath of Torture, Angry Stiles Stilinski, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s02e12 Master Plan, Guilty Scott, Head Injury, Hurt Stiles, I don't know what stiles and scott are, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Minor Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Post-Season/Series 02 Finale, Sad Scott, Worried Sheriff Stilinski, basically just scott and stiles, but they are something, gerard is the worst person ever, lots of pent up emotions, mentions of stydia if you squint, other injuries too, stiles is an angel in need of protection, stiles is hurt both physically and emotionally, what else to tag, whatever you want them to be I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7948735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokxnharry/pseuds/brokxnharry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is more hurt than he's supposed to be. And Scott blames himself a little more than Stiles blames him. </p><p>(( I always thought there should have been more of a Stiles/Scott moment after Gerard beat him up and let him go in s2 so that's basically what this is. ))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open up again (I believe in second chances)

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the song second chances by imagine dragons which I think is perfect for this.   
> Enjoy!

Stiles couldn't sleep. His body was sore. There was something poking at his chest, or maybe it was his stomach. There was so much pain everywhere, he couldn't tell the sources apart. It just hurt. It hurt to sleep. It hurt to sit. It hurt to speak. It even hurt to think. But he chose to blame that one on the head trauma. He was okay. Everything was going to be okay. He was back home. Nothing could happen to him. Not again. Not anymore.

He could almost hear his dad pacing, trying to figure out how it had happened, who had done this to his son, and how- how he could fix it, make it better, make it go away. Stiles swore to himself that he'd talk to him. He would. Tomorrow. Or later. Just some other time, when he didn't feel himself breaking, when he didn't feel so pathetic and weak and taunted.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the vibration of his phone that didn't seem to stop, because that too, hurt. It felt like the entire bed was moving due to these small electronic waves, and it was sending jolts through him, and he had to bite down on his lip, to not scream or yell or maybe even cry. It would pass. He just needed to sleep it off. He was okay.

He thought he heard movement outside his door, inside his room. He didn't think he had it in him to face his dad again without falling apart completely, without losing that façade composure, and just telling him all that had happened, telling him how much it actually did hurt.

" I said I'm fine, dad. Now, can you please let me sleep?" He waited and waited, but sleep didn't come, and neither did a response.

" You're not answering your phone." Scott's voice came, and everything suddenly started hurting a bit more. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, and willed his friend away. It wasn't the time. He couldn't do this.

" I'm fine." He insisted, knowing that Scott would be able to tell, but he couldn't bring himself to care. God, he was tired.

" You're not. You're hurt, pretty bad. And I'm not even talking about what's inside of you, or what's going through your head."

" Scott, just- just go home. I'm okay. You can go, fight some creature, or save a life or something. I'll be fine. You don't have to worry about me."

" Sit up, then. Look at me and tell me to go, and I will." Stiles couldn't. He was barely managing staying on his front, and if he moved, he wouldn't be able to hold it in. Something would break or tear or just hurt, and he wouldn't be able to keep all that in. He could barely keep himself at bay as it was.

" Scott,"

" Sit up, Stiles. Sit up and I'll know you're okay. I'll believe you. Just move." Scott kindly hit against Stiles' leg, and he hissed, unable to even pull away from the touch.

" Fuck, I can't, Scott, okay? I can't move. Just. God." Stiles wouldn't cry. He refused to. He wouldn't cry over the feeling of the fist, still colliding into his face, over and over again. He wouldn't cry over the kicking he could still feel in his stomach and sides and back and chest. He wouldn't cry over the pounding headache or how he still felt like his head was bleeding, although it had stopped. He thought. He assumed, it had. He didn't even know anymore.

Scott was wide-eyed, horrified. No matter how many times his friend had gotten hurt, it never got any easier. It never hurt any less. Only this time, Stiles was shutting down, was recoiling upon himself and refusing to let Scott help. And that just broke Scott's heart completely.

" Why were you ignoring me? Why won't you let me help? Did I do something?"

" It's been a shitty night, Scott. I was kidnapped, beaten up, then let go of to send some sort of message to my best friend, or my father, or God knows who else. I had to listen to Lydia cry over losing the one who'd broken her heart. I watched Jackson die then come to life then die again and come to life. And Lydia **_still_** chose him, again and again. So, yeah. If you'll excuse me, I won't be on my best behavior for at least a day or two." Stiles turn his head away, facing the wall, because his breathing was acting funny, and the suffocating sensation was bringing tears to his eyes and he didn't know what to do with himself. He honestly just needed to pass out and forget about all of this.

" Kidnapped? I thought- you told your dad it was kids from the other school. I don't understand." Scott sounded distressed. He felt helpless and confused and just all around shitty. He wished Stiles would just tell him what was wrong. Would just let him help him be okay.

Stiles buried his face into his pillow, biting down on it instead of his own lips, breathing in and out. Or at least trying to. Nothing was really working, and the panic setting in his chest, made everything worse.

" Stiles?"

" Okay, okay. Fuck, Scott, I think something is wrong. I- it won't stop hurting." Scott didn't have time to think, he couldn't, really. His mind was paralyzed by his friend's pained voice, his sudden need for help that he was always too weary to reveal. He put a hand to his friend's shoulder, trying not to hold on too tight. He took some of the pain away. He took and he took until he began losing focus of the spinning ground beneath him, and he had to stop. He had to pull away. He didn't know how Stiles managed to handle it all.

Scott collapsed by Stiles' feet, attempting to calm his breathing, to slow his rushing heartbeat. The scent of decay, of pain and distress and discomfort, was less concentrated now. He could finally breathe through it, past it.

He stood up, turning Stiles onto his back, before helping him sit up, only a little. Stiles' breathing grew more labored. His chest felt like it was on fire. He could feel the blood clotting everywhere he'd been hit, forming bruises upon bruises. Scott lifted Stiles' shirt, finding his skin covered in blue and purple and darkening green. Fresh, angry, bruises were covering his torso and Scott was yet again reminded by Stiles' humanity. He couldn't heal like him. He couldn't just snap out of it.

Scott slowly, carefully, moved his fingers across Stiles' skin, touching, feeling, until he felt a bone protruding in an unhealthy way. Then another one. The skin around them looked inflamed, a vicious red, that wouldn't calm.

" Shit, Stiles, I think you have two broken ribs."

" Okay. Okay. It's going to be okay. I'm okay." Stiles almost cried then, but didn't. He nodded, eyes falling shut, squeezing, then releasing, as he swallowed an almost visible lump in his throat. He wasn't okay. Not at all.

" I can't take any more pain from you, Stiles. I- I don't know how to help. We need to get you to a hospital, I can't fix this."

" You don't have to," Stiles smiled weakly, sadly, eyes still refusing to reopen, in fear of having to meet Scott's, " I'll be okay. I just need to sleep. Rest." Scott sat on the floor, by Stiles' side, his hand impossibly close to his, just in case he needed to take some more pain away. He waited till Stiles' breathing settled, till the trembling stopped, and his finger's desperate grasp on the sheets loosened. Scott then allowed himself time to inspect Stiles' wounds. The gash across his face, his busted lip, the hair matted to his head due to dried blood. The cuts and bruises scattered all around. The ribs. The swelling ankle. Scott almost cried for his friend, but it had been a long day for him too, so he rested his head against Stiles' hand, closed his eyes, and drifted to restless sleep.

He stirred awake when Stiles gasped out in pain. There was still no light outside for his eyes to adjust to. He immediately turned back to his friend, taking his hand, and absorbing some of his own pain away. They were both colored in pain, you couldn't tell which pain was whose.

" Thanks." Stiles breathed, releasing a sigh, that was meant to be longer, but his chest could only exhale little puffs of air. Scott sat back on the floor, bringing his knees to his chest, resting his head against them, with his face tilted towards Stiles.

" Will you get some more sleep?" Scott asked, noticing the faltering in Stiles' eyelids.

" Maybe in a bit, I don't know."

" Do you want to tell me what happened now? I mean, I'm really worried here, man."

" Did you come looking for me, Scott? When dad told you I was gone?" Stiles angled his head towards Scott, opening a single eye, and squinting the other, ignoring the blood rush in his head, that was almost blinding. Scott was taken aback. He'd never heard that accusation in his friend's tone before. He'd always assumed Stiles had no problem with how Scott treated his priorities.

" What? I-" Stiles smiled, willing his head to turn away, like he'd proven a point. Like he'd always been out to show that Scott was a shit friend, had no right to be worried when he hadn't been there, not really. He hadn't cared before. Stiles hadn't mattered.

" Good night, Scott." Stiles whispered, putting both hands to his head, to ease the pain, to settle the ache. Scott had to fight the urge to take some more of his pain. He had a feeling, Stiles wouldn't really let him.

" Jackson was dead, Stiles. Derek and Peter were telling us how he would turn into something worse, something we wouldn't be able to handle. Chris came to us for help because Gerard had brainwashed Allison who was suddenly out to kill us. Everything was a mess and-"

" There were more important things. I get it. The supernatural world is always crashing and burning and there's always something you need to fix. It's okay."

" You're important too. Stop making assumptions about how my mind was working." Scott was frustrated. He knew Stiles deserved better. He knew he should have done better. But coming to terms with being a shit friend, to Stiles out of all people, was a tough thing to do.

" You know what, it doesn't really matter. It happened. Everything worked out. So."

" You're **_hurt_**. Everything hasn't worked out. Why aren't you yelling at me? Who are you being so… nonchalant about it? Aren't you pissed?"

" Oh trust me, I'm a lot of things, but it wouldn't make a difference. I can't ask you for anything. I shouldn't expect much either. You already have a lot to deal with, the burden is heavy. I can understand that."

" You're not a burden, Stiles. I never said you were. I never said that."

" I was out there, and I was so confident that you'd find me. I- I kept telling them; Scott knows my scent. He'll be able to find me, drenched in pee, or shit, or whatever. He'll come looking for me. I was- God. I was so sure of it. It was the only thing I held on to, to not freak out completely. But they did what they did and they let me go. And everything happened. And you **_still_** didn't come."

Scott was at loss. Complete and utter loss. He couldn't find the words. He couldn't adjust to all he was suddenly feeling. It felt like he was losing his best friend, one of the very first people he'd ever learned to care for. It felt like he didn't deserve his friend, like he should have lost him earlier. It felt like everything was out of hand and every time Scott tried to save something, he fucked up something else. He didn't know what to say or do. He didn't know how to go about this.

" Stiles, I- I'm sorry. I know I've been all over the place lately, but you have to know that I love you. You're my best friend. You're my brother. I can't- I don't know what I would have done if something had happened to you. I swear, we- Isaac and I were looking for your scent when Derek and Peter came and just- everything unraveled, man. You have to understand. You have to forgive me, Stiles. I'm sorry." Scott was frantic. He couldn't do this. Couldn't let his best friend down like that. Couldn't lose him.

" Hey, hey, it's okay, buddy. We'll get through this, we always do." Stiles was trying to lean up onto his elbows, but his muscles were too shaky, and his chest still felt like collapsing, every time he moved. So Scott stood instead, putting his hands onto Stiles' shoulders and helping him lay back down, taking some of his pain away in the process. Stiles exhaled, once or twice, before he could get any sound out at all.

" It's okay. We're going to be okay. Everything is fine."  

" No, Stiles, but I- I really am sorry."

" I know you are." _I just wish it mattered,_ Scott almost waited for him to say, but he didn't. He turned away as best as he could, eyes still closed, hands pulling away from the proximity. Stiles was folding upon himself. He was withdrawing away from Scott and his dad and anyone who'd expect him to be okay, when he couldn't be. He was shutting down and Scott didn't know how to get through to him. Didn't know what he was meant to do.

He couldn't sleep. He looked through all the clues Stiles had hung to his board on the wall. He tried to make sense of those instead, since nothing else seemed to make much of it. He fixed the slight mess around his room. Moving everything, putting it back to where it already was. He stared down on his claws, putting them out, then bringing them back in. He wondered why they couldn't protect his friend, why they couldn't get to him on time.

" Jesus Christ," Stiles groaned, moving his head, so that his facial injuries were clear to Scott. It hurt for them to rub against the pillow. Scott looked out the window, and the sun was barely coming up. It couldn't have been any later than 5:30 in the morning.

" Can't sleep?" Scott's voice sounded scratchy, like he had to force it out. Scott was still grateful those words had escaped him, rather than all that was roaming inside. He still needed to figure all that out. Stiles shook his head. His eyes squeezed a little, and the scent of pain strengthened. He was still hurting.

" Can I… do something?" _To help this, to help you, to make it all go away._ Scott wanted to continue, to let it all out, but he didn't want it to not matter. He didn't want it to not make a difference. Because then he'd be left with nothing, but the bitter taste of loss, and the heaviness of disappointment.

" I don't know. I think I need to go out for some air." Stiles tried to move and Scott almost rushed forward, but he stopped himself. He didn't want to surpass the boundaries now laid between them. He didn't want to push too much.

So he didn't offer to help, and Stiles never asked. He sat himself up, taking a moment to breathe, to recompose, before swinging his legs off the bed, and standing up. His leg gave out, and the movement of the fall, hurt like all hell. This time, he couldn't hold it in. He yelled in pain. The stench almost suffocated Scott, but he willed himself not to move, not to intrude.

" Okay, okay." Stiles nodded to himself, holding his breath, leaning onto his bed, until he was standing again, this time making sure not to let go too fast, not to trust his fading strength too much. He had a hand around his stomach, like that would somehow help his bones mold together, would keep him from completely breaking away. And the other hand rested against the bed, then the cupboard, then the wall, until he got to the door, and he didn't know what to do. He feared if he pulled away, then he'd collapse again. He still didn't want to ask for help, for anything, really. He was far too stubborn and the wound of abandonment was still too fresh.  

So Stiles stood there, hating the helplessness, despising his sense of co-dependency, angry at his body for getting hurt so easily, so severely, for hurting as much as it did. Until Scott gave in, moving towards the door and opening it. Stiles almost tripped and Scott couldn't help but catch him. That hurt too. So Scott pulled his hand away slightly, leaving an arm in the air, that Stiles leaned against, walking slowly, careful not to stir his dad's sleep, as Scott helped him walk out of the house.

Stiles hesitated by the door. Scott didn't know why. He didn't know that the last time Stiles was out there, he was taken, right where the crowds were, and no one really paid attention until it was too late. He didn't know that Stiles ran and ran, he thought he'd never get back home, he thought it'd been a trap and they'd take him back there, kill him in front of his friends; Erica and Boyd, or the other way around. He didn't know that Stiles was in so much pain, he felt he'd pass out, before he crashed into his father's welcoming arms. He didn't know that Stiles didn't want to; didn't want to crash, didn't want to worry him, didn’t want to deliver that message that they'd sent him with; that he was, to them. Scott didn't know anything, and he didn't push Stiles to tell him. He waited, noticing Stiles' desperate grip, smelling the fear on him. Stiles finally breathed in, taking one step outside, then the other. And that scent slowly deciphered away.

Stiles was in his element; he was always so curious, so experimental and adventurous. He loved the world and he knew there was more to it than just what he'd seen. He never enjoyed staying in, it wasn't enough for him, it made him feel restricted and small. He knew he was never meant for that. But now, leaving the house, going out there, scared him shitless. His fear was almost paralyzing, but he pushed through it, because he had to. Because he couldn't allow himself to stay in that mind prison they'd made for him.

They walked in silence, neither of them speaking of their need for one another, or how they couldn't pull away, couldn't keep away, couldn't really stay mad, but mostly, hurt. They walked until they got to a collapsed tree house that they'd built together, for all the nights they spent watching out for creatures in the woods, or discovering new plants species, or whatever the hell they did, when they were young and naïve.

Scott smiled, and he thought Stiles did too. So he sat him down, by that tree, knowing that he wouldn't be able to climb, or even attempt to. He then sat down beside him, their legs brushing, but not really touching. Both Stiles' arms now circled around his torso, trying to keep himself together, to keep the pain at bay.

Scott was closing his eyes, taking in the familiar air, attempting to settle down, when Stiles finally spoke.

" Did you get any sleep at all?"

" Not really, no."

" I thought you would have gone home by now, to be honest."

" Despite what you might think of me, I wouldn't just leave you like this." Scott's eyes were still closed. Stiles' eyes were anywhere but on Scott. They were both scared of saying the wrong thing, knowing that it might have been too late to take any of it back.

" I know." Stiles finally admitted, because deep down, he did. Scott wasn't a bad friend, not at all. Stiles was just pissed and he had expected more. He was also still scared and shaky and jumpy, which didn't really help.

" You do?" Scott turned to Stiles, who was still facing away from him. Stiles silently nodded, hitting his foot against Scott's. His good foot.

" I didn't mean most of what I said back there. I mean. Of course I'm pissed, still, and yeah, I would have liked for you to have come a bit earlier, done a bit more, but, this isn't on you. It never has been. I'm not a damsel in distress, Scott. I don't always need or even **_want_** you to save me. But there are times, when the bad guys are just too bad for me alone. And I- I'm going to need help. And I've got no one else to expect it from. I don't think I'd ever have it in me to ask for it, or even accept it, from anyone other than you. So. Yeah. That's why I felt how I felt and said what I said. That's why… Yeah. So anyway. Just wanted you to know that."

Scott stared at Stiles in awe. He wasn't losing his best friend. No. This was his friend telling him that he needed him, asking him not to go, the only way he knew how. This was Stiles coming to terms with his humanity and vulnerability and almost telling Scott not to use it against him. This was Stiles defying everything he was comfortable with. For Scott. Only for Scott.

" You do know you're my best friend, right? And there's nothing I wouldn't do to protect and help you? You know that if- if all that happened, hadn't happened, I would have gone to the end of the world, to find you, to bring you back? You- you're family, man. You and my mum are all I've got. You **_have_** to know that by now."

" I know, I know. It's just, I don't like it sometimes. I don't want you to do everything to protect me. I just want you to do **_something_**. Sometimes. Nothing too stupid or drastic or any of that, just- something, you know. God, I'm not making any sense." Stiles went to rub against his forehead, groaning at the ache in his chest, but pushing it aside anyway.

" No, you are. I get it. And I'm still sorry." Stiles shrugged, allowing his head to fall against Scott's shoulder tiredly. Scott almost cried with relief, with joy.

" I'm so tired." Stiles yawned, and Scott smiled, bringing his own head on top of Stiles', but only a little. He didn't know how much his head trauma hurt, or how much pressure would be too much.

" You can sleep. I'll carry you home, or something." Stiles punched Scott's arm then, causing Scott to laugh. Really laugh. For the first time in a really long time.

" No, you won't. The fuck do you mean you'll carry me home? I'm not some Disney princess, and you aren't really my knight in shining armor. Screw that carrying me home bullshit."

" Well, you did ask me to make out once." Scott noted and Stiles mock-gasped. But the pain in his chest stopped him from exaggerating it.

" That was once, and I was sexually confused at the time. Just needed to prove a point."

" More like sexually frustrated."

" Why am I even friends with you?" Stiles said, shaking his head, but a comfortable smile was on his face, as he snuggled closer to Scott. Scott laughed again and he'd forgotten how easy that was when it came to Stiles.

" You still haven't told me who'd done this to you." Scott whispered, when it had gone far too silent.

" Since you're such a smartass, you can figure that out for yourself." Stiles' voice held no judgment, no annoyance, whatsoever. Just amusement, and exhaustion.

" No, Stiles, seriously."

" It doesn't matter, Scott. It's all over now."

Stiles couldn't tell him that his girlfriend's grandfather had kidnapped and beaten the shit out of him. He couldn't tell him that his girlfriend was right upstairs, and she probably knew of the people tortured in her basement, and refused to do anything about it. He couldn't tell him that Allison; his first love, the one he was still broken up about losing, had done that. Had turned into that. Stiles couldn't do that to him. He didn't deserve that.

" Will I ever find out?" Scott questioned, slightly frustrated, but mostly, confused. Stiles shrugged, yawning again, and Scott decided to leave it at that, knowing that it was pointless. Stiles never shared anything he didn't want to. Stiles couldn't be persuaded or pressured into saying something he didn't feel like saying. You just couldn't really win with him. So Scott let him be, until he felt him completely sag against him, snoring, ever so often.

Scott contemplated carrying him anyway, but he knew he'd wake up, and hate himself for letting Scott do that for him. Scott didn't want him to pull away again, so he closed his own eyes, with his head rested on top of his friend's, and his legs beneath Stiles', simply to elevate them, for the pain to subside a little. That was how he'd finally fallen asleep. And he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept this well. Couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this.. **_okay_**. And although he could still smell the pain and fear on Stiles. Although he still couldn't take all his pain away because it was too much and most of the time, Stiles wouldn't let him. He was okay. And Stiles was too. And that was all that mattered. All that had ever mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my third story in the teen wolf fandom and I love it so much. This show gives me sooo many ideas and I love writing about these characters and sharing with you and I hope you do too. So please let me know, through comments or kudos, and tell me if you have any episode/scene/season that you wished had a different scenario and maybe I'll write that next :)


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